WE WERE NOT expecting
company this far
north, latitude 88
degrees, 19 minutes. The only
signs of animals we had seen
were some fox tracks heading
southeast and a lone seal that
popped its head out of a lead we
were crossing. All of a sudden
a polar bear appeared over a
pressure ridge. Like us, it
seemed tired and disoriented,
and it may have been starving.
I had just put on my parka
and was getting ready to chop
ice for dinner when I saw the
bear closing in, only 30 yards
away. "Ho!" I yelled, alarming
Erling, who was pitching the
tent. I went for the .44-magnum
handgun that I had worn on
my hip when we were farther
south. But I had packed it in
the sledge, thinking the danger
from bear attack was past.
Sightings of polar bears this far
north are extremely rare. Sud
denly I thought: "National
Geographic! I've got to photo
graph it!"
The camera wasn't loaded,
and I fumbled with the film as
Erling, now gripping his own
revolver, looked at me in disbe
lief. "No, no," he shouted, "we
have to shoot first!"
The bear stopped, pacing
back and forth and sniffing the
air, giving me enough time to
get the film in and take photo
graphs (right, top). And then it
began to approach us (right). I
fired one warning shot, but
when the animal closed to nine
yards and kept charging, we
had no choice.
The bear shook as two
bullets pierced its chest. Heav
ing silently, it turned in its
tracks, stumbled, and collapsed
National Geographic, March 1991
130